


cheating death, just in time I woke

by earlofcardigans



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlofcardigans/pseuds/earlofcardigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We should talk about it.” Steve sat on the edge of his bed and watched Bucky watch the city. He watched the city a lot now. Maybe he watched it a lot then, too. Steve couldn’t remember. There were too many gaps.</p>
<p>“What do you want to talk about, kid?” Bucky turned toward him and shrugged. “I mean. Really? What is there?”</p>
<p>“There’s everything.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	cheating death, just in time I woke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katilara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katilara/gifts).



“We should talk about it.” Steve sat on the edge of his bed and watched Bucky watch the city. He watched the city a lot now. Maybe he watched it a lot then, too. Steve couldn’t remember. There were too many gaps.

“What do you want to talk about, kid?” Bucky turned toward him and shrugged. “I mean. Really? What is there?”

“There’s everything.” Steve wished his clothes could be too big again somehow. He could hide in a sweater, curl the fingers that wanted to curl into Bucky’s side into the soft threads of something that was never fitting him.

Much like his current situation. His new forever situation? Steve didn’t want to be in it alone.

“We could start with how you were supposed to kill me.” Steve met Bucky’s eyes. “And I’m not a kid anymore, Buck.”

“Sure. Don’t think you ever were.” Bucky sat in the chair facing Steve, hung his hands between his knees.

“Neither of us were.”

“What are we doing, Steve?” Bucky ran his hands over his face, through his hair like he used to when he was pressured or couldn’t figure out a problem. Before, Steve never could tell his hand from his hair and now. Now his hand is a gleaming representation that neither of them survived the war.

But they were both still alive somewhere, buried in the words and memories and actions shared and missed.

Steve wasn’t sure what hurt worse, having Bucky next to him and looking over to see if he was as excited, or having that entire time where he’d looked and the space carved out in his vision was never quite filled with Bucky.

He had been hollow for longer than he cared to think about.

“We could talk about it.” Steve shrugged again. "Anything. Just pick a point. I do not even care, Bucky. But this.”

Bucky sighed and looked at Steve. Really looked at him in a way he hadn’t since. Well not yet. Steve had missed it. He’d missed so much that he thought he had completely forgotten.

“Remember when we had money to get those ices. And we ran down to sit in the grass because that was how you’d always wanted to eat it?” Bucky laughed, and it was sad and strained.

“I asked how you got that money. You never did tell me.”

“Then you fell apart on me. Allergic to the damn ground, punk. So I carried you back.”

“Put me in your bed because it was farthest from the door.” Steve smiled, watery and old.

“And you apologized for ruining my day. Asked about the money again.”

“We were so young.”

“We’ve always been old. We just didn’t know it till now.” Bucky leaned his head back against the chair. “I can’t look at you, Steve, and not think about it. Not yet. Don’t ask me again.”

Steve got up and examined the city through the sheer curtains. Pepper had assured him that he needed things. Steve had things: like two sets of curtains in a big picture window, a coffee table and a coffee table book that he’d never once opened, he had four pairs of shoes and one pair of cufflinks, he had three different types of lamps and two different rugs.

Steve felt choked with all the things he had. The one thing he never thought he’d get back.

And sure, Bucky was sitting in his room, lounging like he belonged, but Steve knew.

“So what the hell do we do now?” He asked the city, the big picture window. The city had changed, the skyline had grown and fallen and faded and spiked. The city had layers of the past grimed over the pretty present and glistening future.

Steve didn’t want to scrape, didn’t want to pull and tear. He didn’t want to pile on, either. He wanted to sit down with hot dogs and peel back, slowly. He wanted to lie down on something solid, side by side, and paint, gently.

“We can figure out how to work this goddamn cell phone thing Stark shoved at me.” Bucky got up and stood shoulder to shoulder, not touching, but there to lean on. Like always, and like brand new, because Steve hadn’t had that in so long.

“Your buttons too tiny?”

“It doesn’t have buttons.” Bucky stopped looking at the phone, threw it behind him, and watched Steve watch the city. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Promise?” Steve leaned closer to the window, tried to see out past the lights to the beating heart.

“Have I ever let you down?” Bucky looked at him then, sad and hopeful and guarded.

Steve shook his head slow, deliberate. Bucky had left him alone, the man with the silver arm had tried to murder him, but Steve had believed in them both. “You’ve never let me down.”

All he wanted to know now was that he had, and could, return that favor.


End file.
